


when you look my way

by syn0dic



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, clrz and ashedue fankid rights, these are two of my fankids and you know what i say fuck it im posting this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24964432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syn0dic/pseuds/syn0dic
Summary: Twenty five years after the New Dawn of Fodlan, the king of Almyra invites his old friends and comrades to visit for a summer and spend time together. With a warm summer and a new spark of friendship between them, Irina Duran-Molinaro and Ismene von Riegan might be forging a friendship in their teenage years-- but they might be lighting up something more, too.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	when you look my way

**Author's Note:**

> ive had this laying around for a long time but anyways they're cute and soft and this made me nostalgic for my days being a dumb romantic teenager : )  
> if you need the context of these fankids ive got twooo works about them, song for summer and what we can offer!

The first time Irina had seen her, she had been coming off of a ship, arm in arm with her father as they deboarded, leaning on him for support. The other girl (by her father’s accounts, the princess) had auburn, nearly plum hair that tangled down to nearly her waist, a disheveled look that only the most spoiled children could likely get away with, and a two guard entourage. And Irina had almost immediately seen in her eyes a look a little too close to her own-- shrewd, and keenly inspecting her surroundings.

The first night had been loud. Their parents were all talking, swapping stories, rekindling old friendships. Irina was almost never a shrinking violet, but in the shadow of her fathers’ buddies and dear companions and laughter and the infinite flow of wine and the exhaustion of a journey from Duscur to Almyra after seventeen years of moving slowly-- well, it wore her out, and when she was tired, Irina hid in her shell. But with eight brothers and sisters around Ismene, when Irina caught her eye, she looked similarly reclusive, as if she was waiting to go elsewhere.

After a week of searching through courtyards and gardens of the royal Almyran palace, after a day with her fathers sunning on the beach while she cheered for them at ball games, after nights of dinners and laughter and learning more about her fathers from twelve different voices than she thought she had learned in all of her life-- after that, Irina found Ismene again.

She was in the smaller conservatory behind the palace. Irina had been told that it was not “recommended” to visit by one of the older princesses, that it was Ismene’s little kingdom, but Irina had not presumed to guess what that meant, and had, upon finding it accessible to her, had opened the door and wheeled in. It was dense, heavy, and humid inside, with odd screens tented above and anchored throughout the conservatory. A variety of plants were maintained, yes, but what Irina noticed second was the plentitude of living insects-- bright jewels of beetles, strange and exotic bugs which Irina had no name for, mantises and butterflies and scorpions, beautiful ants and locusts and tiny spiders. Of course, she had not initially seen them as beautiful. Irina had been alarmed but had steeled her nerves the first time she visited the conservatory. And she had been even more unnerved, when the princess Ismene perched on one of the open, screened windowsills, with a huge spider on her forearm, lovingly stroking its furry back.

“This used to be the orchid conservatory,” explained Ismene later, putting drops of sugar water on her warm, suntanned arms. “My fathers let me do what I wanted with it as long as I stopped bringing bugs into the chambers.”

“Why do you like them so much?” Irina was, reactively, very hesitant, especially around the ones that she knew were more poisonous. Ismene had offered to her to hold a very large scorpion, and Irina had politely declined.

“They’re misunderstood,” said Ismene. “They’re beautiful, and they just want to survive. We’re afraid of them because they’re something as trivial as unappealing to us, but they just want to live.” She helped push a small mantis onto her fingertip, letting it make its way to the beads of sugary goodness on her arm. “And they’re all so different and fascinating.”  
…….

Ismene didn’t like guests. They intruded on her own sanctuaries, unknowingly-- the sacred halls of her home palace where she liked to run willy nilly, in the fountains where she would catch and jar mosquitoes to save and preserve the specimens of eggs, in the rafters and rooftops where she would hide from her siblings and maids and tutors. They were an infestation, and every one of them was always there for her fathers-- which made her even more resentful. If Ismene had her way, she would have ran out a long time ago, to tour the world and write a book on the natural wonders it held. A fourth child is the heir to little more than a privileged childhood in the sun, and there was nothing she wanted more than to be free of that the year she turned seventeen. However, something infinitely inhibited her, and at times, she found herself referring to it as a conscience.

She didn’t like guests at all, no. But Irina was different-- not from the moment she saw her, but from shortly thereafter onwards. When they’d met, Irina had seemed to be another child of parents not unlike her own-- adults with ghosts, adults of a silver time that had faded into a golden post-war of change. Their children were burdened, sometimes, but more often too carefree, or unliberated in a way that Ismene could not place. Caspian, Angelo, Daria-- they all seemed too much alike to her for it to be a coincidence, and the pressure of ruling or inheriting or naming sat heavy on all of them in a way it never had for Ismene that made her nearly guilty. But Irina hadn’t seemed that way. She was, by Ismene’s mark, bold and curious. She didn’t bother with meeting rooms or reunions. She had sought the beautiful things, the beach, the laughter of her families when she would have it, and the rich hidden gardens and conservatories. And if Ismene would not seek her out, she would at least not make herself inaccessible.

The first time she saw her, though, truly saw her-- three days after they had arrived, she had gone to the center courtyard and its fountains for a morning walk. It was just after dawn; most of her siblings and her fathers and the guests were still asleep. She had tiptoed in quiet between the great, broadleaf ferns and flowers and trees, along the water, and had sat in the silence for a few moments.

And around the corner of the path, there was Irina. In the morning light, her white hair, feathery tufts caught between long and short, looked almost pearly. Her deep skin in the blue illumination of the morning skin almost looked violet, lit from within and dotted with faint constellations of freckles. Her rimmed glasses could have glowed in the morning light. She was chewing her lip in concentration as she drew something on the sketchpad in her lap-- and Ismene followed her gaze from a distance to a bird, perched on one of the statues. In that moment, she realized Irina was a perfectly ordinary teenage girl, and that she could imagine nothing more liberating than her life, free of expectations yet still as dignified as a queen.

The day after the conservatory, the two of them visited the water garden together.

It had stairs, and Ismene had helped her up and down them, but it was worth the flight of effort to the both of them. Irina liked to draw in private, and Ismene liked to watch her, dip her toes in the pools, feel the fresh air. She was, by the account of her entire family, unmanageable and unruly, but she was beginning to question such a narrative; around Irina, she did not feel the need to make trouble.

“You like birds?” asked Ismene, kicking her legs back and forth in the water with her dress uncouthly pulled up to avoid the springwater.

“Mhm,” said Irina. “My dad used to tell me stories about them. They’re the bridge between the earth and the sky.” She blew charcoal dust off the paper. “To fly like that..” She paused. “I think it must be wonderful. There’s all sorts of songs and poems about birds I used to know as a little girl. I think they were the first things I learned in Duscur.”

“Can you teach me a little?” asked Ismene, who immediately regretted even considering the question.

“Uh…” Irina paused. “Yeah, I could. It’s not really spoken in Almyra, though, so… I mean, why would you need it?”

“I dunno,” said Ismene sheepishly. “I just know you speak it with your fathers. I heard you a few nights back. It sounded...really pretty.”

“Oh,” said Irina. “Well, here’s how you write the word for river.” She scrawled a few characters Ismene didn’t recognize. “And here’s how you spell it with Fodlan characters.” Such was the lowest common denominator of their spoken languages, so it only made sense.

Ismene cleared her throat and tried it, and Irina tried not to laugh. “You have such a thick Almyran accent,” said Irina. “It’s...it’s alright! It sounds very nice!”

Ismene began to blush. “I’m trying.”

“And nobody starts a language speaking it perfectly.” She sighed. “Is the water nice?”

“Mhm,” said Ismene. “Perfect for the summer.”

“It never gets this hot in Duscur,” said Irina with a shake of her head. “It’s always a little cold. This is just so strange to me.”

“If you want to dip your feet in the water, I could help you,” said Ismene. Irina paused.

“If you could give me a hand, that would be nice.”

Perched on the edge of the pool, the water streaming between them all as it flowed into the greater waters of the river, the two girls’ morning turned to afternoon, conversation between them both. Irina had the loudest laugh Ismene had ever heard; she could barely believe that the Irina who sat in quiet dignity through dinners was the same girl who gnawed on apple cores and drew the most dynamic hawks and doves she had ever seen and had a laugh like a songbird.

…….

Ismene had to beg the four of their fathers to let the both of them go to the open-air street markets without their supervision.

“They’re beautiful,” she had pleaded. “I just want to see the agora. It’ll be fun. Irina will have fun too.” And eventually, Irina’s fathers caved in. Ismene had often gone alone or with her tutors, but Irina had never been, and Ismene gleefully dressed her in the popular, fashionable streetwear of teenage girls. Her plain cream and burgundy skirts and blouses were switched for a lilac and white printed linen coat and blue skirts and wraps borrowed from Ismene’s elder sister, her headband replaced with a thin veil over her hair. “There,” Ismene had said. “Very fashionable.”

“Does it matter at all whether or not I’m fashionable?” Irina said.

“Not especially,” said Ismene as they followed the path from the palaces to the city square, winding in and out of stone streets, towards the huge open space of the agora. “I just think it would be helpful to blend in. You seem pretty normal.”

Irina laughed at that. “Normal?” She snorted, stopping her wheelchair. “I’m sorry, Ismene, but no matter where I’ve gone, I stick out like a sore thumb.”

“That...wasn’t a joke.” Ismene tilted her head. “You live in a normal house with...pretty normal fathers, and you live a normal life.”

“I could ask you what it’s like to be normal, too,” said Irina with a shake of her head. “I mean, you fit in really well with all your siblings and the other kids. Me? I’m the odd one out to them. You’ve got all your siblings and all your royal political friends and all the freedom in the world. Me, I’m an only child who spent my childhood in a sickbed. All our dads’ friends’ kids are normal compared to me.”

Ismene was caught by the idea, suddenly, that normal was not a state of anything but comparison, and that her constant envy of a state of normalcy was not anything more than her own restlessness with herself. “Maybe nobody is normal then,” she said glumly, and Irina snorted and pushed up her glasses.

“Maybe.” She pushed herself into the agora. “Oh, Ismene, it’s beautiful.” The golden stone columns towered over an archway, and low buildings of vendors rimmed every inch of the outside of the agora. Stalls and canopies and the sounds and sights and smells of a summer market, from freshly cooked pastries and meats and spices, to beautiful clothes and tapestries and furniture, crowded the agora, and Irina drank it in.

“Yeah,” agreed Ismene. “Let me show you my favorite place to get halva. Not even my aunt can make it this good,” she said with a smile. “You like sweets, right?”

“Sometimes,” lied Irina, who adored anything sweet.

……

After a month of the long holiday in Almyra, the two spent every morning and every evening by each other’s sides, and most of the time in between the two as well. Irina had showed her the patient art of life sketching, of faithful documentation and processes, and Ismene, ever set in her adventurous ways, had taken her to almost everywhere Irina could go around the royal palace, and had attempted even more, often to the tune of occasional resignation. The two had found in the other someone equally foreign and familiar, one part an oddity and the other part a capsule of the strange rhythms of the ordinary the other could not capture. Ever even-tempered Irina found Ismene’s moods and spirited pursuits thrilling and exciting, little twists and bends in her to decipher and understand, and Ismene sought to understand the algorithms living in the evenness Irina so embodied and lived in, as if all the world was a ship on a great sea and she was to keep it afloat. If they were parted, they were talking about the other to someone else or asleep, with little exception.

“What do you dream about?” Ismene lazily lounged on the side of one of the bathing pools, one arm in the water as Irina swam, one of the few ways she could find the strength to exercise. Irina stopped, treading water as she gazed at Ismene, her burgundy hair trailing in the water and her green eyes focused on the ripples in the pool.

“Flying.” Irina leaned back and floated on her back. “I dream about flying. All the time.”

“I have a wyvern. You said you didn’t want to.”

“Mm, not like that. Flying on my own.” She exhaled, the cool water running through her fine white hair. “You?”

“Last night I dreamed about you.” Ismene rolled over to look at her, shoulder flat against the stone. “I had a dream you…” Ismene blushed.

“I what?” Irina turned to look at her.

“You kissed me.” Ismene sighed. “It’s confusing, right?”

“Not really,” said Irina, cheeks flushing. “I...I don’t see why that would be confusing. I mean, kissing isn’t strange.”

“Ugh, my dads kiss all the time,” said Ismene, sticking her tongue out. “My brother and his girlfriend too. And one of my friends and her girlfriend. I just never thought I was the kissing type.”

“Because you’re a crazy bug girl?”

“Because I’m a crazy bug girl,” agreed Ismene, “but more because I’m just...different.”

“Well, I get that.” Irina swam to the edge of the pool resting her arms on the stone ledge.

“I know,” said Ismene despondently. “I just don’t see what it means.”

“When I dream about flying,” Irina said, “I know it means I want to fly. I don’t try to make it something it’s not.”

“But what if I—“ Ismene paused. “What if what I really want is something else? Then you’d be my first kiss and I wouldn’t even have known how I felt about it.”

“Then it’s just your first kiss.” Irina smiled. “You get a whole bunch more tries.”

“Yeah, but…” Ismene sighed. “I haven’t even asked you yet.”

“Why not?” said Irina.

“Why not.” Ismene sighed and rolled over to face her over the ledge of the pool. “Irina, it’s silly. And it’s embarrassing. It’s just a dream!”

“Alrighty,” said Irina, wryly grinning. “But would you please kiss me?”

“Ha ha.” Ismene wrinkled her nose. “You shouldn’t make fun of me.”

“I wasn’t.” Irina tilted her head. “Would you? Kiss me, I mean.”

“You’re serious?”

“Mhm.” Irina smiled. “If you wanna try kissing, you could kiss me.”

Ismene hesitantly lowered herself into the water beside Irina, her bathing dress billowing in the water ever so slightly. “I…”

“First, take my hands.” Irina offered them out to her under the water. “Just like that.” Ismene took them. She’d never read about kissing. Never asked about where to start or how to do it or anything.

“Then, I’ll close my eyes.” Irina delicately floated her eyelids shut, her dark sea-blue eyes covered. “Then you kiss me on the lips real quick.”

Ismene could feel her heart race. She didn’t want anything more than this, the fear and joy and giddiness all bubbling up in her like a spring and she leaned in, and delicately, chastely kissed Irina on the lips. She tasted like rhubarb and cherries and a thousand good dreams and— and Ismene watched as Irina opened her wide eyes.

“Oh,” she said softly.

“Hm?” said Ismene, unwilling to part their hands.

“I’d never been kissed. That’s what it feels like.”

……

“Daddy,” said Ismene, leaning over the side of the couch, braiding his violet hair, “when did you know you loved Baba?”

“Such an odd question, my dear,” said the king consort, reaching up to fix where she had muddled the braiding. “Why are you asking?”

“No reason.” Ismene restarted the plait of pin-straight hair, the graying strands woven in with the purple. “It’s just something I hear people talk about.”

“You know how we met.” Lorenz sighed and set down his book. “Your other father and I attended the academy together, then remained close friends through the war.”

“But when did you know you loved him?”

“About three years after the very end of the war,” said Lorenz hesitantly. “He and I kept close written correspondence, and as I read one of his letters one day, I realized that he was possibly the only person on the earth who I would never tire of hearing from. The singular person who I would always wish to be around, who would be there for me regardless of circumstances. That was when I knew I loved him.”

“And what did you do after that?” said Ismene, dangling her legs.

“I invited him to visit and we had a long conversation over a matter of days. And afterwards, we agreed upon an engagement.”

Ismene paused. “You fell in love like that?” She tilted her head. “Hm.”

“Is someone troubling you?” Lorenz peered at his daughter over his reading glasses, setting down his book. “Ismene, you know that I shall listen to anything you tell me.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Nobody. I just keep wondering what it will be like when I feel it.”

……

“Sit still,” urged Irina. “Chin up.”

“Do you have a nickname?” Ismene tilted her head. “I heard your dads calling you Rini. Can I call you that?”

“Yes,” said Irina, “but stop moving!”

“Why are you drawing me anyways?” said Ismene, whose every instinct fought against the phrase sit still.

“When I go back to Duscur, I want to remember you.” She swept dust off of the sketchpad. “You keep moving!”

“Won’t you remember me well enough?” said Ismene. “I’ll write you letters.”

“Yeah,” said Irina, “but… I dunno, something sentimental. To remember this summer.” She furrowed her brow in concentration, the little dimple in her forehead that Ismene had come to think of as possibly her cutest feature making an appearance. “I won’t forget you, but it’s a reminder!”

“I guess I get it.” Ismene tilted her head. “Whatcha gonna do with the drawing?”

“Sit still!” Irina chucked a ball of paper at her, and Ismene laughed. “It’s going on my wall, with all my other drawings, probably.”

“The...birds?” Ismene asked.

“More than birds,” said Irina. “People, too. Places. Anything that really sits still long enough for me to get it down.” She pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “But a lot of birds, too.”

“What is it about them?” said Ismene, folding her arms. “I mean, I explained bugs to you.”

“In long, excruciating detail,” agreed Irina. “You even told me that the whip scorpions that try to attack you any time you get close are misunderstood souls.”

“They are! But you never...explained why you like birds.” Ismene frowned at her.

“I don’t think you really should ever have to explain why you like things. Maybe sometimes you don’t even understand it yourself.”

Ismene paused, watching her. “But I don’t believe that. You tell me you dream about flying, you draw birds all the time-- I mean, you begged your dad to carry you halfway up a mountain so you could see an ossifrage.”

“It…” Irina paused. “It’s that they’re so elegant, so beautifully functional. Every part of them is a well designed machine that does something nothing else can. Well, bats, and some bugs, but… Birds are the ultimate flying machine. It’s what they live to do. It’s what they’re designed for.” Irina paused. “Ever since I was a little girl, all I ever wanted to do was fly like that. Between heaven and earth.”

“You know, I know I already offered to take you out on my wyvern, but… The offer still stands.”

“Maybe I’d like that.” Irina paused. “Stop moving your hair, too, Ismene! I can’t capture your likeness if you’re always wiggling!”

Ismene could only laugh.

……

“Papa,” said Irina, the both of them holding cups of tea in their suite, the lantern having burnt late into the night, “when did you fall in love with Baba?” She set down the cup ponderously.

Ashe thought about it for a moment. “I think the very moment that I saw him, I loved him just a little bit. A tree is still a tree when it’s just a seed.” He smiled. “But maybe that’s just hindsight! It took a very long time for either of us to even make a move. You know,” said Ashe, “the first time I proposed--”

“Baba said no,” said Irina, who knew the story. “And then two months later he came back and asked you. I know.” She smiled. “How did you know you loved him? It just...it seems like something everyone talks about knowing when they feel, but it’s so confusing.”

“Love is confusing,” agreed Ashe. “I might just be older, now, but I think love isn’t a feeling. Love is something you do. You do things for people, the kindest things you can, without expecting a thing in return. When you love someone,” said Ashe, “what you’re saying is that you want to treat them with love.”

Irina thought for a moment about the tiny gestures even she noticed between her fathers. She thought about the way both of them went above and beyond to treat her with love, the way they had saved her life in the first place. She thought about the great beautiful romance poems and songs she had read all through her life.

“That makes sense,” said Irina. “That it’s something you make, that you have to embody. Not just a thing you feel.” She tilted her head. “I guess in a way, you and Baba try to love everyone you meet.”

Ashe sighed and smiled. “You should write philosophy or poetry or something, kiddo. You have some wisdom in that head of yours.”

“I think I just pay attention,” said Irina softly. “I think it’s about time to sleep.”

……

“Rini.” Ismene bolted up to her during breakfast. “Rini, Rini, Rini.”

“Hm?” Irina raised a napkin to her mouth politely. It was her and her fathers’ last day in Almyra, and she was going to enjoy not having to cook or do dishes the best way that she could.

“Hurry up and finish your breakfast. I wanna take you wyvern riding.”

“You have to be kidding.” Irina’s eyes went wide, and she glanced at her fathers. “I mean, I’ll go, but…”

“You have my blessing,” said Ashe, though Dedue looked slightly more hesitant.

“Be careful,” he warned. “You know your own limits.”

“Yes sir,” said Irina, setting down her half empty breakfast dish. “What are we waiting for?”

“You, slowpoke,” said Ismene, and the two of them departed like wind. The draciary was on the far end of the palace, but they had visited together a few times. Ismene loved it. She loved the sound of wyverns, the way they moved, the way her own wyvern, Moosh, nuzzled against her. “Ohhh, I can’t wait,” Ismene said happily, pushing open the door to the draciary and holding it for Irina.

“Just...bear in mind that I probably can’t take half the excitement you can,” said Irina with a grin. “I would hate to faint in the sky above the city.”

“We’ll take it slow,” said Ismene. “I mean, my first ride, my baba didn’t even take me out of the yard.”

“But you were probably a toddler,” said Irina pointedly, as a great maroon colored wyvern, slender and long and almost puppy-like in its friendliness, crashed to the ground before Ismene and began pushing her arm over its head.

“Moosh!” She beamed, rubbing her knuckles over his scaled head. “Oh, buddy. You wanna go for a fly? You wanna go for a fly?”

Irina cleared her throat.

“Oh! Hold your hand out for him to sniff,” said Ismene. “He’s a big softie. He won’t bite.” Hesitantly, Irina held out the palm of her hand, and Moosh deeply inhaled her scent, then nudged her hand. “See? He likes you!”

“I see,” said Irina hesitantly. “Well, we ought to...go.”

“Right. Well, here’s how you get up into the saddle normally, but…” She paused. “Well, I think I could get him sideways, then if you could stay balanced while he rights himself, that would get you on alright. I don’t think I could pick you up,” admitted Ismene.

“I think I could,” said Irina. “Here. Let’s try.”

Ten minutes later, the two of them were soaring on Moosh, far above the palace.

Irina had never felt more alive.

……

“Goodbye, old friend,” said Claude, with Dedue and Ashe both in tight hugs on the steps of the royal palace. “If either of you need a thing, you tell me and I’ll get it taken care of.”

“It’s alright, Claude,” said Ashe with a smile. “We’ve got everything under control back there.”

“Except Irina,” joked Dedue. “The both of you, take care.”

“Always,” said Lorenz, with an elegant smile and slight embraces all around. “Miss Irina, I trust that you will take care?”

“Yes,” she said with a polite smile as Lorenz and Claude both bent down to give her hugs. “Thank you so much,” she said, tears running down her cheeks. “I’ll be sure to write.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Claude, ruffling her hair. “You’re a good kid. You get out there and make some changes!”

“I will!” she said. Ismene was asleep this early in the morning, and they’d said a little goodbye the night before, but as Irina and her family turned around, Ismene bolted down the steps, flinging the doors aside as she flew, truly, nearly soaring off the ground.

“Rini!” she called, dashing up to her, winded. “Rini, I know you have to go.” She knelt down to be at her level, while Ashe and Dedue processed what was playing out before them. “Irina Christine Duran Molinaro, you had better remember me for all of your days, and forever and ever.” She had tears in her eyes. “You better not forget me. Because I’m never, ever going to forget you.”

“I won’t. I’ll never forget you,” said Irina with a smile, even as she was crying. “You have to promise me you’ll write me letters. Even if they’re stupid.”

“Anything,” agreed Ismene. “I love you.”

Irina was a little taken aback, but love was an action. Love was an action. Love was an action.

“I love you too.” She pulled her in for a kiss, holding her tight. “I’m not going to say goodbye. I’m saying I’ll see you again someday. And until then, you had better not do anything stupid.”

“Of course not,” said Ismene, kissing her forehead with a teary laugh. “Get out of here! Go home so one day I can go visit you in Duscur!”

“Yeah right!” said Irina, parting ways with her for the first time, but she could hope it wouldn’t be the last.


End file.
